Madam Benée’s stick tapped again. Her bony shoulders drooped as she released a sigh. “Everyone, take five minutes.” She grabbed Charlotte’s arm and pulled her to the far corner. The room seemed to breathe at once as dancers dispersed from their lines.
“They need a lot of work, don’t they?”
“Yeah,” Red said, not caring who the male voice was behind her. “Half the dancers aren’t over their shoes. Their shoulders aren’t squared. And if they weren’t so afraid of the floor, they’d have a lot more momentum in their jumps.”
“You know ballet,” the voice said.
Red snorted. “I know ballet.”
“You should join them.”
Another snort. “You couldn’t pay me enough.”
“Too bad. I’d like to see the look on Charlotte’s face when she discovers she isn’t the prima ballerina she thinks she is.”
Red finally turned her head.
All the color drained from her face.
Liam.
Reynolds.
The Third.
Memories surged through her at once. Her father’s grave. The rocky cliff. Her scarf flying into the ocean. Liam retrieving it for her.
“Little Ruby,” Liam said, eyebrows raised.
“It’s what my father used to call me,” Red whispered. “You remember.”
Red swallowed, then swallowed again. Her heart drummed fiercely. Liam had lost his boyhood features. He was handsome, but not in a Hollywood way—more aristocratic. Strong nose. He wasn’t as tall as his father. Lean build. He had coffee-colored hair that curled behind his ears, like he’d been too lazy to get a haircut.
“A faint memory,” he responded, “but not too clear.” He lifted his chin and straightened the loose tie around his neck.
Red forced out a laugh and twisted her lips. “Right. The night of my father’s funeral shouldn’t be memorable to the son of my father’s best friend. Why would it? You’re a busy guy. Heard you went off to Rrrrrrussia.” She rolled the R. “Busy rubbing shoulders with tzars and eating tea cakes?”
Liam smirked. “Didn’t your father study in Russia? Stravinsky was his favorite violinist.”
Red’s cheeks flushed.
He glanced back into the classroom. “I remember how much your father loved to watch you dance, Megan. It was everything to him. He’d go on and on about how difficult it was to play in the pit during performances because, when you were onstage, he just had to watch you. Even though you were only a young thing, he would have done anything to see you in the spotlight.”
The heat in Red’s cheeks deepened. She narrowed her eyes. “My father didn’t care about the spotlight. Don’t pretend you knew him.”
Liam gave a tight smile. “Well, I suppose you’re right. How would I have?” He paused, one hand on the doorframe. “How long did you say you were here for?”
“I didn’t.” Then Megan sighed and said, “I’m leaving as soon as possible.”
Liam frowned, thinking. “Hmm. Well, you should at least say hello to everyone before you leave. I’m sure they’ve missed you.”
Red’s eyes widened. “Oh, definitely not. No. Definitely not.” She backed away, but Liam gripped her arm, smiling mischievously. “What? No!”
Liam threw open the door.
When they stepped inside, every eye slid in her direction. The dark-haired girl at the piano glanced up. The girls huddling on the floor retying their pointe shoes froze. The dancers stretching at the barre lowered their legs. Madam Benée and Charlotte ceased their conversation.
Gasps circulated around the room.
“Quiet.” Madam Benée tapped her stick.
The jarring sound reverberated in Red’s head. She shut her eyes, but all she could hear was the pounding. All she could see was the last time she was in this room. Madam Benée beating her stick. Red dancing, then slipping off her pointe shoes and falling. Laughter from the other girls. More pounding and falling. More laughter.
Pounding.
Falling.
Laughter.
Until Red finally ran from the room. It was the last time she’d danced.
Red started to edge backwards, but Liam still had a tight hold on her arm.
“Director Reynolds,” Madam Benée said, lips pinched, face bland. “Ladies, our new director. If you would line up, please.”
The girls quickly moved from their locations and lined up shortest to tallest. Sunbeams danced through the dusty windowpanes, silhouetting the girls from behind.
“There aren’t many of us,” Madam said. “But you may cut as many as you think necessary.”
Liam scratched his jaw then glanced back to Red. “Cut… without watching anyone dance? What do you mean, cut?”
Madam placed both hands on her stick out in front of her. “It is custom for the director to choose his corps based on weight and height per his preferences. Assuming you know that, of course.” She lifted her sharp brows.
The two stared each other down, both unwilling to break eye contact.
Finally, Liam linked his hands behind his back and started at the tall end of the line first. He walked heel to toe, his eyes roaming up and down each dancer’s body. Red wondered what he was thinking. Although their encounter in the hallway hadn’t been a pleasant one, he didn’t seem all that bad. He didn’t seem the type of person to cut a girl based on her height or weight—but she didn’t know him—not really. He was only the boy who jumped into the water to save the last physical reminder of the father she’d had.
Red peeked at the door. She stuck her hands in her armpits and rocked back on her heels. She didn’t have time for this. Every second she stayed here was a second too long—and as time ticked, her life back in the States was being delayed further. Just being in this room was like stepping into a dark nightmare. She knew those girls were thinking about her, silently snickering, remembering how she had run out of here after falling on her face. It was as if she had been immersed in murky water, and she wouldn’t be able to breathe until she was climbing again, preparing for nationals.
When Liam reached the end of the line, he turned to Madam Benée and said, “Every dancer is sufficient.”
The girls exhaled. Charlotte lifted her chin and grinned.
Liam paused and examined the girl behind the piano. Her dark hair fell over her in wisps and her shoulders slumped forward.
“You,” he said. “I remember you. Do you not dance also?”
“She does not,” Madam Benée said sharply.
Liam moved toward the piano. “No. I’m sure of it. I remember you. Jane, isn’t it?”
Jane slumped even further.
“Why aren’t you dancing? We could use your talent.”
“I told you,” Madam Benée said. “She doesn’t dance.”
Liam snapped his head over in Madam’s direction. “I’m the Director. I ask the questions. You will not interrupt me.”
The knuckles stood out white in Madam Benée’s bony fingers.
“Tell me,” Liam said gently. “Do you dance?”
“I—I used to, sir,” Jane whispered.
“How old are you?”